


Sherstrade Sheetlock

by suchanadorer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Sheetlock, Sherstrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2012-07-18
Packaged: 2017-11-10 05:40:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/suchanadorer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade comes to pick up Sherlock to take him to Buckingham Palace, but Sherlock refuses to get dressed.</p>
<p>Started prior to S2 when all we had to work with was some teaser stuff, and finished for Sherstrade Appreciation Day 2k12 on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherstrade Sheetlock

**Author's Note:**

> So, way back when we first got the previews for S2 and Sheetlock was a big deal, Chesh made this gif set with Lestrade calling Sherlock to get him to come out to the car to go to the Palace.
> 
> Please note that this diverges wildly from canon. When I started it, we didn’t know what was going on in Sherlock’s flat, and if I tried to make it canon-compliant, it would cease to exist.

“You know, John killed the last man who turned up and claimed to be my cabbie.” Sherlock bundles the sheet tighter around his shoulders and blows out a breath over his tea.

“Right. Sure he did.” Lestrade chuckles and thumbs through his phone, looking around the flat as he waits, leaned against the door frame.

“You don’t believe me?” Sherlock’s laptop closes with a snap and he turns in his seat but makes no effort to get up. Lestrade sighs, pushing off from the door frame with his shoulder and crossing the room.

“I’ll take my chances.” says Lestrade. He licks at his lower lip as his eyes follow the curve of Sherlock's collarbone where it's exposed. Sherlock draws the sheet up again and stands. He turns away from Lestrade and opens the sheet, repositioning it so that he's properly wrapped, his hands fisted in the cloth in front of him.

“Where are we going?” Sherlock calls after Lestrade, who has moved into his bedroom. Sherlock sips at his tea and frowns when Lestrade fails to answer or reappear.

Sherlock moves through the flat, pulling at the sheet where it catches on a kitchen drawer. He finds Lestrade stranding in front of his open closet holding up two shirts.

“Oh, well, if I’m going to Buckingham Palace then I’ll want the black shirt, please,” he says nonchalantly as he sits on the edge of the bed.

Lestrade turns and hands the shirt to him. “We’re in a hurry. Get dressed, then.”

“Make me.” Sherlock enunciates the words very clearly, and Lestrade’s eyebrows all but disappear under his hair.

“Well, if that’s the way you want it…” Lestrade lays the shirt neatly on the other end of the bed and steps into Sherlock’s space, slipping one hand under the edge of the sheet draped over Sherlock chest. He meets Sherlock’s gaze and lets his hand rest against pale skin for a moment.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock bats his hand away.

Lestrade blushes and stammers a moment, then turns away and picks up the shirt again. “Dress yourself, come on. I’m double-parked.”

“You’re a detective inspector. You can park wherever you want,” Sherlock replies, looking at the shirt but not moving to take it. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You said you wanted me to dress you. I thought…” Sherlock sighs and Lestrade lets the sentence trail off. He keeps his back to Sherlock, busying himself instead with folding the suit and shirt, and finding shoes.

“Come on. Last chance, get dressed. Your brother’s expecting you at the Palace.”

There is a dangerous glint in Sherlock’s eyes and Lestrade knows instantly he’s said the wrong thing.

“Mycroft is expecting me? Well.” Sherlock leans back on the bed. “I think I’ll take a nap.”

“Dammit, Sherlock!” Lestrade gathers up the clothing and shoes and storms out of the room. The door to the flat slams and Sherlock sits up, walking quickly back through the flat towards the window. Lestrade’s car is still there, and the detective is on his way back inside.

Lestrade strides up to Sherlock and grabs a fistful of sheet, pulling him bodily towards the door.

“You’re angry,” Sherlock muses as he stubbornly stays put in the middle of the room, swaying forward when Lestrade pulls again. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is that someone at the Palace asked me to do something and you’re ruining it. That’s what’s going on. Which one of us do you think will look worse when he turns up late?” Lestrade runs a hand back through his hair and scowls at Sherlock’s passive expression. “You might not care about your reputation but I care about mine. What’s more important to you, screwing your brother or not screwing me?”

Sherlock’s mouth falls open and he blinks once, twice, before he shakes his head.

“Where are my clothes?”

“In the car. Come on, you can change on the way,” Lestrade answers, wrapping an arm around Sherlock and urging him out of the flat and towards the waiting car.


End file.
